Winter here's cold
by chrysalis escapist
Summary: Sometimes when things go wrong there's just nothing you can do. Sometimes love goes one step further. Mac&Stella, with a bit of Flack&Angell, Danny&Lindsay, Adam
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: none of the CSI:NY characters belongs to me****. Not exactly a song-fic, but starting with the title, I did have Sarah McLachlan's 'Full of Grace' in mind when writing.**

Mac wakes up. He doesn't really recall having slept, but his joints are slightly stiff like after some time of not moving. He feels a bit cold. His metabolism is down and his apartment hasn't started warming up for the day yet. He sorts through his thoughts. One keeps escaping him, something about the day before, or maybe just the memory of a dream. He shakes off the dimness that has settled around him, stretches his limbs and gets up. Monday morning. He finds the way to the bathroom by the city lights stealing in alongside the blinds, not that he wouldn't find it in complete darkness. Just like his way around the lab.

His cell rings. After a glance at the caller id he answers it with a smile, "Morning, Stella."

"Morning, Mac. I didn't wake you, did I?" her voice is as fresh and crisp as the dawn.

"Of course not. You didn't really think that I'd still be sleeping …"

"I was more like hoping you might be." she interrupts him with a chuckle.

"I did actually get a very good night's sleep, thank you." he assures her, and thinks he can see her smile at that.

"Hey, have you looked outside yet?" she continues.

"No, any particular reason why I should?"

"You'll love it." she promises.

He walks to the window and pulls up the blinds. An imitation mountain range has gathered on his windowsill. Snowflakes the size of geese feathers are falling past. He moves closer to the window and glances down at the street. Parked cars have turned into small white peaks; moving cars have turned the snow on the street into a silvery slush.

He thinks of footprints conserved in the snow, of Stella conserving a snowflake in superglue. He smiles.

She hears the smile in his voice as he says, "Oh yes, I do love it. Don't know about driving though, or being outside."

She picks up the touch of concern in his tone and says, "I took the subway, and I'm inside now. And as far as I could tell from walking that bit, it's not slippery."

"Does that mean I can take the car and pick you up on the way to the lab?" he grins.

She chuckles in reply, "That'd be nice. Where I am is not exactly on the way to the lab though."

"Don't worry about that. And Gerrard had better not even dream of saying anything about expenses." Mac concludes with a smirk.

Stella laughs and gives him the address where he can find her. He estimates a time for his arrival there, they say goodbye and end the call.

Mac sits down for a small breakfast, consisting of two buns with butter and a large cup of coffee. He lets the smooth taste of the carefully roasted beans roll over his tongue. He watches the mountains on his windowsill build up, looking like a speeded-up version of the developing of their far bigger brothers. Since Stella alerted him to it at least two inches have been added. Mac finishes his breakfast and gets up to complete his morning routine.

He leaves his apartment wrapped in a thick coat and lets his car join the early-morning traffic. Nothing like rush-hour, but the weather slows people down. Wipers fight against the heavy white that continues to pour down on them, less experienced drivers cautiously sneak around corners. Traffic lights have a mind of their own. Mac grins at the memory of something Stella had once said about them. 'Little green men who are so shy that they turn red whenever you attempt to approach them.' He looks at his watch. Stella might have to wait a bit longer for him to arrive.

As Mac comes closer to his destination the street before him becomes more crowded. He looks around; the few pedestrians that are around all seem to be going the same way. Cars going so slow they don't overtake them, the only advantage of moving in a car now is the staying dry and warm. Mac weighs the options, taking over five minutes for just one more side street to go? He decides to park the car and walk the last bit. He doubts Stella would mind. He can just see her sending snowflakes dancing from her curls, shaking her head in a vehement 'no'.

He walks around the corner. He stops, he blinks. The building he sees before him looks like a piece of the arctic. Onlookers attracted to it like moths by the light, staring at the blinding white landscape before them, a hum of voices in the moist air. Single words unintelligible, wrapped in snowflakes. Looking up and down the street the realization sinks in that this is the address Stella had given him.

Mac runs across the street, not caring for the icy sludge he sends flying, flashes his badge at the nearest officer.

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Thank you for taking the time to read. Is it worth continuing? Please let me know what you think. All comments are appreciated and replied to if logged on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all those reviews and the reassurance. Please continue, I still love to know what you think.**

No, the officer shakes his head in reply to Mac's question, Detective Stella Bonasera has not been seen. Mac scans the building, the walls that are no longer walls but ice floes, being pushed together they jut into the air at various angles, forming crevasses. The roof no longer supported by them lies limp like a sheet in between.

"Kind of looks like an iceberg, doesn't it?" a familiar voice comes from behind.

Mac turns around. "Stella was in there."

The smile slips off Flack's face. "You sure?" A wisp of mist curls from his mouth like a wraith.

"I'm here because I wanted to pick her up." Mac produces a similar cloud.

Angell steps closer, as if hoping to be able to hold the umbrella she's sharing with Flack over Mac too. She exchanges a quick glance with Flack before looking inquiringly at Mac, "Have you tried calling her?"

Mac shakes his head. He thinks of the many times he had tried to call Stella and not been able to reach her, to find out later that something was wrong. He hesitates. Flack and Angell exchange another glance. Flack pulls out his cell, presses a couple of buttons. After a few moments he shakes his head. Snowflakes that have sat in Mac's hair like stars melt and run wet trails over his face.

"When did this happen?" Mac asks.

"According to inside and outside witnesses, at about 7:30, just after sunrise." Flack replies.

"Just after we ended the call." Mac says, half to himself, subconsciously brushing through his hair he sends icy water running down his spine. "I should have …"

"You should have what? Known that this would happen? I doubt very much you could have." Flack's voice breaks through Mac's thoughts. "We don't even know how this happened yet."

Mac rewinds and replays the sequence of events in his head. Stella's voice on the phone, the things she had said. Had there been any sign that she was distressed, in trouble? No, even though Stella is much better at reading _him,_ he would have noticed that. She had just seemed delighted with the snow, and wanting to share that with him. _You'll love it._ It seems like the only reason why she had called him, he's sure she wouldn't just have called him in hopes of getting a lift.

And after the conversation, through breakfast and driving here, up until the moment he saw what had become of the building there had been no indication that something was wrong. Not even a bad feeling. Flack is right, he couldn't have known. But he wishes he had. The snow that continues gathering weighs on his heart.

"I'm going in there." Mac states, turning around.

"Mac, you can't …" Flack places a hand on Mac's shoulder. Whisked off by Mac's abrupt movement to face him again it stays frozen in the air, defensively.

"I know the risk. She's in there, probably injured, and the sooner we start the more likely …" Mac stops, not being able to take the thought further.

Angell pulls back a little from the ice she sees forming in Mac's eyes. Flack watches him walk towards the group of rescue workers, and he senses that if the building took Stella it might as well take Mac too. He feels Angell's cool fingertips on his hand.

"Let's go talk again to the people who got out. Maybe they have seen her and can tell us where to look." she suggests.

Mac talks to the rescue workers. Thanks to his badge, mention of his marine background and the determination on his face they agree to let him come along. He thinks about the conversation with Stella again. Was there anything in the background that could help him locate her? From the echoes he thinks that she may have been in a hallway, but was she still there when the building collapsed? And was she on her way out, or further in?

An ambulance light spits stains on the scenery. Blue shadows, a spirit's blood. It's waiting. All those who got out on their own had been near the stairwell at the front center of the building, and suffered only minor injuries. Flack talks to a man who's getting a few cuts disinfected, gives him a description of Stella.

"Sorry," the man shrugs, "I haven't seen anybody looking like that. But then, as soon as I heard that growling sound I just turned and ran, didn't really take a close look at anything anymore." He looks over Flack's shoulder. "You know, from out here it looks like an iceberg, with the …" he trails off noticing the effect of his words on Flack's expression.

"Yeah, thanks anyway." Flack manages to say before turning to the next witness, remembering that the real danger of an iceberg lies in that what is hidden beneath.

Mac looks at the building again, rotating the plan he has just looked at with the rescue workers in his head, making amends for the changes that must have occurred. With a swish some snow that had gathered on the ruins of the building slides down. The pattern it has left where it tore away looks like an angel's wings.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for all the reviews****, you've made me so happy! And also for the favorites (sorry I forgot about that the last time). Please continue, I always love to hear from my readers. Also thanks to those who showed their interest by putting this on alert. P.S.: the song mentioned is by Jane Siberry.**

Mac takes a step towards the building. Something crunches under his feet. It cannot be the snow, that's too moist. He steps back again; his footprint is quickly filling with snow. Such heavy snow. But he sees that he had stepped on a piece of glass, probably from a window. Between the glitter of the snow's crystals it gleams softly, like a pair of loving eyes.

He looks at the ground just before the entrance of the building. Only a soft up and down, a slight difference in the height of the snow, indicates where people have stepped. With some patience they could still lift prints, the snow having been firmly pressed together under different weights and patterns, but in this case there is no point. He knows that Stella is somewhere inside the building. Though Mac wouldn't pass anyone who needs his help the only prints he wants to see are Stella's, inside, to show him where to find her.

Brushing against the metal frame of the open door its coldness pricks his thumbs. He takes a deep breath of the crisp air and enters the building that groans under the weight of the snow and seems to shiver from the cold, the cold that no longer is only outside, has seeped into its bones. Mac feels like he has just passed into a glacier snout. The first corridor he turns into, an ice tunnel. Pieces of plaster like snowflakes on the ground, anything that could pass for footprints smeared by people running, directionality always showing they moved towards outside.

Flack and Angell extend their questions if anybody has seen Stella get out to people who had been outside the building. They know that Stella wouldn't have escaped the building and then walked away, but that she may have been forced to leave suddenly turns into a hope. No need to check the rear exit, it doesn't exist anymore. The glances they exchange become more and more frequent, holding on to each other as the answers stay the same, only a slight variation in the phrasing.

A small commotion draws Flack's attention towards the entrance. Onlookers gather closer as a rescue worker waves over two paramedics with a stretcher. Flack follows the movement. A few moments later he returns. The woman found was not Stella. He sees Angell making a call on her cell.

"Danny," she answers his unspoken question, "they'll have to come and look at this anyway. I thought we might as well let them know now."

"What?" Danny exclaims on hearing what she has to say.

In a tone that lets Lindsay who's working opposite him look at him with concern. Loud enough to be overheard by Adam who's passing by to the rhythm of his iPod. He pulls one of the earplugs out.

"We got a scene. A collapsed building, cause unknown." Unaware of Adam hovering in the door behind him, Danny relays to Lindsay what he has just been told, hesitates for a moment, "And Stella was inside."

A sudden feeling causes Adam to stare at the display of his iPod. 'Calling all angels'. He swallows. He hits the pause button. No, that can't be right. That can't be happening. Not to Stella. He's almost unaware of Danny and Lindsay passing him, leaving for the scene.

"Hey guys!" he calls out. They both turn, Lindsay stops, Danny keeps walking, backwards. "Send me pictures. I want to … maybe I could try …"

"We will." Lindsay promises. It doesn't matter what he wants to do with them, she's sure he has good reasons, and that he wants to help. She slips into the elevator moments after Danny.

Two floors further up now, Mac lets his flashlight feel its way along another corridor. It wavers over a spot standing out from the monochromatic surroundings, white tiles on this floor, white snow blowing in through broken windows. Blood. A thin trail of bright red having run down the now slightly tilted floor leads him to a hand, tangled in a web of curls. He takes swift steps towards it, crouches down next to it. Carefully he brushes flakes of debris away, lifts the light brown curls.

A moment later he's relieved to recognize the hand as not being Stella's. The woman hadn't stood a chance against what had come crashing down on her, now hiding her face from him. But revealing a wedding band on her finger a feeling furls around his heart like a glacier because someone out there has lost his wife. He lifts a larger fragment out of place, uncovers her face. Her eyes are as blue as if they were reflecting the sky they are now staring at. Only that the sky isn't blue.

The snowflakes have become lighter now, but the sky is still a swirl of white. Snowflakes like pieces of the clouds being torn off on the now jagged edges of the building. Mac closes the eyes of the woman and moves on. Towards the end of the corridor the rubble and broken walls look like glacial drift against the white sky the building has involuntarily opened up to. For a moment he stands and looks. A snowflake lands on his hand, still up in the air, holding the flashlight. _You'll love it._ It takes a moment before it melts.

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Thank you for taking the time to read. Every review still helps me to continue this. Please let me know what you think. All comments are appreciated, and replied to if logged on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for all the reviews, I loved getting ever****y one of them. Please continue, or start here, you can also go back to the earlier chapters. It takes just a moment to make me happy. All thoughts and comments are appreciated, and replied to if logged on.**

Mac turns away from the view. Not that it changes much. The same white, the same swirl before him, behind him, everywhere. Increasing with every floor he manages to reach. Increasingly difficult to reach. Another flight of stairs, relieved that this connection is still intact he dares another glance outside. He sees Danny and Lindsay arrive down below, Hawkes a few steps behind them.

They look up at the building. Feel helpless, nothing they can do; nothing but wait for them to be allowed on the scene. They listen to Flack and Angell repeating everything they had been told by the witnesses. Not much, not enough. Not what they most want to know. They stand, huddled together in the gathering cold of the snow. Five pairs of eyes, all wishing to be able to see for Mac.

They separate, not what they want to be doing right now, but realizing it's the only thing they can do. Danny's and Lindsay's hands part in midair. Mechanical eyes focus on the building, from the street, from the buildings around.

Hawkes feels like a gaper, a tourist having a field day because he can send such exciting pictures home. He pushes aside those thoughts; he _knows _he's not doing what people might think he's doing. He tries not to look at the pictures, just take one after the other, capture the whole building. This damned building that isn't whole anymore. But he can't help staring at one of them. A bent piece of ceiling or wall, like a wave frozen in midair. Somehow beautiful but he knows too well it can still cause destruction. He feels time has frozen, he looks at it too long before his finger finds the 'send' button.

With a satisfied smirk Gerrard sees Adam Ross scuttle out of his way. Until he comes face to face with Sid Hammerback. A shiver runs down his spine, something about the ME always gives him the feeling that man is looking forward to having him on his dissecting table. Though at the moment Hammerback looks plain distracted. Gerrard thinks that he'll have to talk to Taylor about why the guy doesn't stay in his morgue where he belongs. Or why none of the head CSIs can be found in the lab, where _they_ belong. He looks at the doors of the AV lab that have just closed behind Hammerback and shakes his head.

Heat of excitement is running through Adam, immediately followed by an icy shiver. He still hates puzzles, but this one is for Stella. And the computer and knowing the sequence in which the pictures were taken helps him. He rebuilds the building in the AV lab, what remained of it, wishes he could rebuild it for real. Floor after floor he reconstructs the destruction. A split second before Sid points to it something catches his eye. Just a speck of color among the white debris, but they are sure what it means, _feel_ who it is. Adam reaches for his cell; following an encouraging nod from Sid he dials a number.

Mac follows Adam's instructions, leading him around a maze of doors he knows won't open anymore. And then he sees her. One arm lying at an angle above her head. A snowflake has landed in her cupped hand. _You'll love it. _Stella, conserving a snowflake, capturing time. But he thinks it should have melted by now.

Mac struggles through the last of the icy landscape that is still blocking his way. Scraping his hands, unaware that someone has begun following him, he slips over the now uneven floor, works his way through plaster and bits of walls and ceiling, all appearing like drifting snow, an avalanche.

Under a sheet of snow she looks just like she's sleeping. Almost as white as the snow, a touch of blue, like a shadow cast on snow. He's on his knees beside her, has her hand in his. Almost as cold as the snow.

Little puffs of steam come from his mouth. He tries to control his breathing. Sees no mist rising from Stella's lips.

He rubs and flexes his fingers to be sure that there is feeling in them. To feel a pulse. But there is none.

His hand stays frozen in place.

Mac can only watch as the paramedic shines a little light into her eye. It reflects like the moon on a frozen over lake. No sparkle.

Mac's thoughts freeze as the paramedic applies a portable EEG. No waves. Nothing. No use trying.

She looks like she's sleeping. Like this is just a bad dream. _Please let me wake up … let her wake up._

The paramedic withdraws as unheard as he has come. He takes unspoken words with him. He knows that his sincerest sympathy cannot reach this man, sounds hollow in the emptiness that has opened up before him.

"Stella …" a whisper sinks from Mac's lips.

It has lost its meaning.

He gathers her into his arms. For a moment he thinks that she has breathed, but then he knows it was his moving her that expanded her lungs. He leans his forehead against hers.

He feels warmth, but it is only a reflection of his own.

Draining rapidly from him.

He hears a heartbeat, but it is only an echo of his own.

Beating so painfully in his chest.

He closes his eyes. Closes out the burning white of the snow. But the cold is already inside him.

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… SORRY! … but this is not the end (points to genre), please, don't abandon me now. Every review helps pull Mac through this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for all the ****wonderful reviews, really glad about anyone who didn't abandon me.**

Mac wakes up. He doesn't recall how he got out of the building, or how he got back to his apartment or into his bed. Only one memory from the day before crashes down on him.

_Stella._

He feels cold. Colder than his apartment is. He feels that the heating is on, but the cold is inside of him, chilling him to the bones.

He thinks he must have held her until her body went into rigor. And then it crept into him. He feels like he can't move. He doesn't want to move. There doesn't seem to be any more reason to.

His cell rings. He doesn't check the caller id, it doesn't seem to matter. Any voice that is not Stella's can only chill him.

The blinds remain closed though his apartment feels too dark now. He doesn't want to see the snow. Too bright, jarring with the darkness he feels. He doesn't want to be reminded.

He goes to the lab. It's the only thing he can do to hold on. Although he doesn't know why he should hold on.

After losing Claire he had thought that he would be more aware. And now it's happened again, and he feels that he hasn't appreciated the moments they had. He remembers how Stella had been determined to live every day of her life to the fullest. And how scared she had been when she had told him that she might be infected with HIV. How worried he had been, and then remembering what she had always told him. _You always have the strength, the courage – inside_. The sound of her voice, the look on her face as she said, repeated, that one word. Inside. All just a memory that he locks up inside. It was never more, as every moment past. Locked deep inside. He needs it, something to hold on to, but he can't bear to touch it.

He avoids people's eyes on the elevator, knowing that they look at him but will turn away as soon as he looks at them. Embarrassed, not knowing what to say. The air seems to be pressing down on him. Too much of it because she's not sharing it with him. He feels he can't breathe because she doesn't.

He doesn't look up as he exits the elevator. Only when he thinks he sees something backing away. Sullen colors, but all colors seem sullen now, or too bright. He comes face to face with Gerrard. _What do you want?_ The unspoken question is answered equally silently. _Nothing, never mind. _And Mac knows that Gerrard knows. He wishes Gerrard would challenge him, would give him a reason to be annoyed. A distraction from his grief.

He wishes he would dream of her. He remembers he had dreamed of Claire. Had spoken to her in his dreams. Dreams that were of course only illusions, but somehow they still had made him feel better. The feeling that he could still talk to her, the thought that maybe she would take this path to be able to answer, had helped him through.

And Stella. She had been there for him. Every day, whether he wanted it or not. She had pulled him through. But now, who would? Who could?

Sid stands before him, outside the morgue, trembling from head to toe. He couldn't bring himself to perform the autopsy, but he has felt it his duty to watch. He's searching for words to explain. Not medical ones, they are there, simple and cold. Blunt force trauma, epidural hematoma. Over too fast, nothing Mac could have done. He's tearing at his glasses that come apart with a crack.

Mac nods, feeling what Sid is trying to say. He hopes that Sid can feel what _he_ is trying to say. That he understands, he thinks he understands. He sees a hand on Sid's shoulder, rubbing gently. Trying to give the comfort of touch. He nods again and turns away, leaving Sid and his wife, one holding the other, one holding on to the other.

Mac moves on through the lab. A semblance of moving on, in his life. Because he knows that Stella would want him to. He looks at the remainder of his team, the shattered pieces.

Danny fumbles the pictures they had snapped of the building. Outside, and later inside. No longer a rescue mission, but a search for the cause. Pictures of signs of stress. Shearing, tearing, falling - all frozen in the pictures, all showing the end of a motion. They fall from his hands. He snatches his glasses from his nose, again. Cleans them, again. But the blur he sees is not on them.

Lindsay sits staring at him, alternately chewing her upper and her lower lip. She wants to get through to him; she needs to get through to him. She needs him to try and get through to her. Her friends, Ruben … it mustn't happen again, that they lose each other over losing someone else. Her hand comes to a rest halfway. She tries to move it further, but she can't. She lets her eyes reach out for him.

Adam twiddles the earplugs of his iPod between his fingers. He longs to listen to it, longs for the comfort it had always given him. But he can't bear it. He thinks about that song, the moment he heard he knew it had a meaning. But he had hoped that angels would come to help Stella, not that they would now need the help of angels, and that one of them is her. For one moment he had thought he could help. He had failed her, failed all of them, no matter what they say.

Kendall lingers around his table, watches the tears trickle down his face. She wants to comfort him but she feels there's nothing she can do. For the hundredth time she rubs the space under her nose. A space that suddenly seems too big because there's no longer a smile to fill it. She knows all about the chemistry of tears, but not how to stop them from falling.

Flack flattens the wrapper of a bar of chocolate he had opened an hour ago. He had taken a bite and almost choked on it. His fingers trace the material, again and again. Sticky, melting under his fingers. Body heat, burning in his eyes. He crumbles the wrapper, pieces of soft chocolate dripping from his hand in mid-air. He flattens the wrapper out again.

Angell wishes she could give him something, someone to be angry at. But it was just the snow, too much snow. On an old roof. Maybe there is someone responsible. Neglect. The super could have kept a closer eye on the construction. It doesn't help that he was killed in it too. All she can offer is a hug. Never enough, but she hopes it's something.

Hawkes holds one picture in his hands. The frozen wave, frozen in time. A piece of wall that hit Stella, on the side of her head. He feels like time is freezing around him. Too late. Why does it have to be the seconds ahead that seem to stretch? Was there anything he missed, anything they could have done? No. That's what he has told Mac. But he doesn't believe it himself.

For a moment Mac's eyes lock with Hawkes'. Maybe, like he's watching them, watching each other, maybe she's watching him too. Watching over him, but he wishes someone had watched over her. He should have. He knows Sid is right, Hawkes is right … they are all right. He couldn't have helped her. He wishes he could have.

Days pass. They call him. Every morning someone from the lab calls him, even Adam. They probably don't know the others call as well. They don't know how much it hurts him; they don't know Stella had called him that morning. He doesn't tell them. They only want to help. And he needs their help. They need him. Need him to keep the team from falling apart.

The snow continues to fall. Fine flakes, like a white noise running over the screen of his reality. He can only watch, from a distance. Feeling so distant it doesn't seem real. The colors, the sounds, the smells. It all seems off. He suddenly sees fibers in his carpet standing out a little more than their neighbors. He hears a dissonance in the opening of his door that he could have sworn wasn't there before. He can smell the air standing in his office, becoming stale. He can taste bitterness on his lips. He can feel emptiness brushing over his skin. Cold and black.

It just can't be true. It has to be a nightmare. He wonders if one can dream inside a dream. If maybe the fact that he doesn't dream at night means that he's dreaming these days.

It is a nightmare, a nightmare he's living through. And he just can't wake up.

Every fiber of his body tells him that something is wrong. Everything is wrong. It just can't be. It just can't be that she's dead.

Every morning he wakes up, wondering how it is possible he has slept. Realizing that the nightmare continues, the night brought no dreams. And his cell rings again.

From what he sees as he roams the city he assumes it must be Sunday. It had stopped snowing the day of her funeral. Now he wishes it would snow. _You'll love it._ No, never again. After all it was the snow that killed her. But he wishes that snow would at least attempt to cover the hole it has torn into his life, smooth over the edges of his pain. He doesn't cry; the pain burns away his tears. A lump in his chest, frozen solid.

He looks at the sky, the sun setting. A mountain range of slate clouds has gathered along the horizon. Above him a thin layer of clouds hangs like golden chiffon, glowing softly. He thinks that she must be there, somehow. Trying again to make his life bearable, by writing her love into the sky.

But he's left in the dark now, again. No snow, just cold. Night. Everything black, even the ice. Shining in the streetlights. Like an abyss. Glass wrapped around the branches of trees. He tries to be careful, driving home. He knows she'd still want him to be. He is careful. But he's not alone …

He hears a metallic scream. A bright light. Everywhere around him. Bright white.

But not as bright as the light that took Stella from him.

Welcoming him. Photons gather, twinkle. A pair of eyes seems to form in the light.

He reaches out for her.

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One more chapter to go, so I hope you'll stick around, please? All reviews still help me to continue this. All thoughts and comments are appreciated, and replied to if logged on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks so much for the lovely reviews. ****You are wonderful!**

White photons swirl like snowflakes. Reflection, refraction, a pair of eyes forms. A smile.

"Claire …" Mac's hand sinks down, brushing along what looks like her arm.

Blue eyes twinkle at him. The smile seems to look slightly amused.

"You expected somebody else, didn't you?" she touches him on the cheek. Freezing, burning at the same time.

Mac tries not to withdraw, not to look down. He thinks she knows what he feels, what is the truth, no matter what he says.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." she continues. Photons shifting to move her lips.

He thinks it must be his imagination. Kind of the dream he had wished for.

"You didn't hurt me."

"Just disappoint you." she says before he can finish what he had wanted to say, continues before he can shake his head in reply to that, "I know that what happened wasn't my fault. And I know that you don't rather want to see Stella than me. But you do want to see her." Of course she knows his thoughts. She nods. "You're right, we don't have to speak, but it feels more natural. Maybe I should let you finish your sentences. But I think that's something you know from experience with Stella, isn't it?"

Her eyes look at him so kindly, as she deliberately waits for him to voice his thoughts. But he doesn't know what to say, he doesn't even know what to think. Photons, snowflakes, thoughts swirl in his mind. He takes a deep breath, is for a moment surprised that he's still breathing. But maybe he just feels as if he's breathing, and it's all part of the transition.

Claire shakes her head. "You're not going to stay here." She smoothes his brow with a light finger.

"Then what is this about?" he manages to say.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." she repeats, holding a shining hand up in the air to keep him from denying it. "I know I did hurt you in a way. You'll understand, later. This …" her finger traces a circle in the air that shimmers on for a few moments, "this is about me having wanted to contact you. I tried to reach you in your dreams, but you didn't remember them. Or you couldn't believe them." Her hand is in the air again, "I don't blame you. You couldn't have known."

She pauses for a moment, studying him, studying his perception of her in his eyes.

"Yes, I only exist in this form thanks to your memories. But now I need you to understand. I am not only your imagination – if that were the case you _would_ see Stella now. Or me with green eyes or something." She smiles wryly knowing that she has scored with his logic.

Somewhere inside Mac smiles too, her words reminding him of what Stella had said about her. And it doesn't matter that the smile on Claire's face is formed by his memory, he's just glad to be able to see it again. To think that even if now is not his time, he will see her again, he will see Stella again.

Claire nods, pleased. "Soon enough. And thank you for taking care of Reed." she says with a smile that seems to run through her whole figure, "Now go back."

She blows him a kiss, sending photons towards his lips, a breeze of light. Photons, snowflakes, slowly sinking to the ground, glimmering, glittering. Until there's nothing left but a halo around the moon.

"Wait!" Mac calls out. She hasn't told him why she had wanted to contact him.

But she's gone. It's dark again. A darkness interrupted by what looks like the stars descending from the sky. Somehow he finds his way home.

_Go back. Go back._

He wakes up. Routine must be keeping him on track. Another Monday morning. The week after.

He sits up without opening his eyes. In the darkness of his apartment it doesn't make a difference. And his cell rings. He answers it, eyes still closed.

He stands, eyes wide open.

"Stella! Get out of that building, now!"

"What?"

"Get outside! Now!" He's already in his coat and halfway through the door.

He hears something in the background, then the connection is lost. Maybe a disturbance caused by the material in his stairwell. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He runs.

Driving, he wonders for a moment if he should try to call her again. Yesterday, if his accident was really yesterday, is still in his bones. He's distracted enough by the snowstorm of thoughts blowing through his mind. He tries to focus on the traffic, and let Stella focus on getting out. He doesn't defy traffic but he feels as if someone makes sure he doesn't get any red lights.

Was all of last week just a dream? Or is this a dream now?

He comes to the building and loses a precious moment staring at it. It looks exactly like he remembers it, but how can he remember it? His heart plummets not seeing Stella anywhere outside.

At the sound of footsteps he swirls around and shivering slightly she stops before him. Shrugging out of his coat and wrapping it around her is one. He folds up the collar, his thumbs coming to a rest against her cheeks, sending a prickle through him.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yes. Yes, I'm okay … I'm okay now."

She believes him, she feels it is the truth. Though the way he looks at her, the way _he _looks, in his pajamas, and trembling himself – a tremble coming from inside, tells her something has happened. Something that will need time to settle.

She feels like she should do something to let him know this is real. But she doesn't know if the unusual would seem more like a dream, or the usual.

"We all got out of there." she nods over to the building, adding, "I hit the fire alarm, and the stupid sprinklers soaked my coat." with a cynical smile.

"How did you know this would happen?" she probes gently when he continues just looking at her.

For a moment his eyes dart over to the building. An angel's wings imprinted on what used to be a wall. For a moment the snowflake clouds open, a glimpse of the sky like a wink from blue eyes.

"Claire." he whispers.

Stella follows his glance, takes in the scratch marks on his car, traces the bruise on his temple with a light touch.

And he knows she understands. But what to tell Gerrard?

"We'll think of something over breakfast, shall we?" she suggests, her head tilted to the right so that her smile appears lopsided.

He pulls her into his arms, pressing his cheek against hers. It feels cold, for a moment. But she moves, moves in his arms, to complete the embrace. Warm, warming him. He knows it's real.

Snowflake stars twinkle in her curls. He doesn't brush them out. They'll melt soon enough.

* * *

Please let me know what you think. Reviews are welcome any time you happen to be reading this. All thoughts and comments are appreciated, and replied to if logged.


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